


let the rain rinse the first blood of battle.

by arurun



Series: today we stain our hands. [1]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 14:40:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18640162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arurun/pseuds/arurun
Summary: They were in the Mafia, they should've been prepared for such a thing to happen. That didn't mean Yamamoto felt any better about taking his first life.





	let the rain rinse the first blood of battle.

**Author's Note:**

> Yamamoto Takeshi kills someone. He's shaken, but he has to overcome.

**To be the tranquil rain that washes away all disturbance within the family. To be like the passing, soothing shower that prevents conflict within the Family.**

_That is my role here,_ he reminded himself. He reminded himself, every off moment he had to or he'd break down.

Rain may grow heavy, even flood towns at times and cause morbid destruction. That is something Squalo strives to be, and Colonnello can be if he wishes for it. But that-- that is something Yamamoto Takeshi should try not to become.

Any pain, he'd bear with it inside.

-

He had taken this job because Tsuna asked him of it. It was a simple job of patrolling a particular area and getting rid of an unwanted disturbance loitering in the area.

'Getting rid of', in Tsuna's head, did not mean anything dark. It was a line spoken in pure trust and confidence in Takeshi's ability. At the time, Tsuna had trusted him to simply beat him up or chase them away with threats, just as how Takeshi and Hayato used to do to Tsuna's bullies.

And Takeshi believed that too. He naively believed that he could always stick to the same intimidation tactics, even after he fully accepted their involvement in actual bloody Mafia.

But when push came to shove and intimidation was simply returned with snarky confidence-- Weapons were drawn and flames were lit.

A deeper part of him suspected it.  _After all, this was bound to happen._  And still, he was confident in his strength. He was confident in his father's sword style. He was confident he wouldn't lose.

But what he failed to realize-- was his lack of confidence in being able to chase this man away with just skill. He himself did not believe this man would just up and leave when told to.

The fight dragged on. Takeshi was definitely stronger than his opponent, but his aim here wasn't to finish him off. He fought to make the opponent give up.

And there, that happened. It began when his opponent suddenly drew out a gun. The opponent had been using a shortsword the whole time, so it really caught Takeshi off guard.

The gun was almost instantly fired-- but Takeshi knew how to deal with enemies that used guns. He'd trained under Reborn, after all. First, he ducked away, having read the bullet's course. Then, he reached for the man's wrist and twisted it in a way to make the enemy drop his gun.

But he had forgotten about the enemy's sword. It stabbed deep into his left thigh just as the enemy dropped his gun.

Hissing sharply in pain, Takeshi trusted his instincts and swerved his sword over to the enemy and-- The sword embedded itself hard and hit into bone. It had dug into his opponent's shoulder-- right at the collar and leading into the neck--

Panicked by that, Takeshi quickly tore his sword away-- but that was a stupid move. The enemy was now in a worse state, blood gushing out from the wound. The enemy had irritation in his eyes, cursing and cursing and cursing as he pressed his hand on the wound desperately.

Takeshi was frozen in mortification.

The man fell back towards the wall as he mumbled something in Italian, cursed, and finally, looked towards Takeshi with eyes-- eyes that screamed fear and anger and hatred and malice and- he swore.

_**"Fuck you, Yamamoto Takeshi!!"** _

_**"Fuck you!!"** _

Takeshi's mind went white. He blanked out.

He watched the man's face contort in pain-- watched the man curse him with the last of his breath-- and all the while, Takeshi stood frozen, unable to comprehend himself. Should he be doing something right now? He didn't even think of that.

He just watched.

Before he knew it, the man no longer moved. The man laid still and lifeless, his eyes wide and no longer blinking, covered in red, red,  _red_.

_That's a corpse, isn't it?_

He wiped something wet from his face with his sleeve-- and found out that he'd stained the fabric with a bright, bright shade of scarlet red.

_Eh?_

It suddenly struck him that since the fight was over, he should keep his sword. It was always better to conceal your weapons when you're not using them, Lal Mirch had lectured him on that. He raised his sword arm, and there it was--

 **Red.**  It was still warm and dripping, a thick, flowing, crimson liquid that only seemed eerie and morbid and--

_Wait a minute, wait a minute._

His eyes were actually wide right now. It was strange to suddenly notice that your face isn't making the expression you intended to make. How is he feeling now? Scared? Stunned? Why? And that was when he realized.

His suit--

The black coat was damp with a warm liquid he didn't want to identify. The blue dress shirt was no longer blue. It was a stained, ugly, uneven shade of red.

He turned back to the corpse, and slowly looked back at the sword still in his hands.

_Bright, bright red._

The man he had targeted no longer moved. The sword had sliced  _right at the carotid artery_. He laid limp and lifeless, his eyes wide and dulled and no longer closing.

He was still.

_Did... Did I... Do that?_

 

-

-

 

"Welcome back, Takeshi-san..." Chrome greeted as she sensed the man at the back entrance of the Vongola Manor, "I was just headed out for my next job--"

She froze as the man came into view. He was soaked-- no, that wasn't right-- he was no longer soaked, as the liquid that drenched him had already dried. He was  _stained,_  in  **red**.

Red that wasn't the Rain Man's colour.

He had on an unreadable poker face as he neared the girl. He had taken various shortcuts to avoid prying eyes, as he had no change of clothes. To avoid the guards, he snuck in from the back. He knew where Kyouya's cameras were, but decided it'd be okay to pass by those.

Quickly, Chrome's eyes narrowed and she materialized her trident in her hands. With another wave of her hand, she covered up all the red on the man's clothes and made his suit look good as new.

"Takeshi-san," she addressed the man, "Go inside." she simply said.

She was a sharp one, but it wasn't hard to know what happened. Being associated with Rokudou Mukuro, she was almost accustomed to the matter of murder.

But she also knew that her Boss and his other guardians weren't quite the same. She could never imagine any of the other guardians-- except maybe the Cloud Man-- laying a finishing blow on their enemy.

Takeshi was not smiling. The lack of that expression spoke out the millions of unspeakable emotions the man was feeling.

And Chrome knew that she had to do something. "Go on in and--" she continued her sentence, "Take a nice, long soak in a bath." she suggested.

She was never good with words. She was never good at consolidation.

So she smiled, because Takeshi, at the moment, couldn't.

"Get some rest. You did great."

-

-

Takeshi was grateful for the thoughtfulness his fellow Guardian showed. Chrome had always been a sweet, understanding girl, and Takeshi had never appreciated it more until now.

With the stained suit now hidden in Mist Flames, Takeshi walked around more freely. He definitely felt less-- exposed.

He headed straight to his room, where he used his own Rain flames to erase the Mist Flames. Then, he almost immediately  _tore_ the suit off his body.

He stepped into the shower and turned the water to the coldest. He just  _stood._ He just stayed there, his mind empty and his senses dulled.

That liquid he had to refer to as blood-- the blood that splattered on him was very, very warm. It came from a man that was still very very much alive-- blood that was shed because of  _him_. Blood that reminded him once again of the corpse he saw.

The red was washed away and flowed into the drain.

Only after who knows how long, he decided to reach for the soaps.

He didn't feel clean.

He could still feel the warm blood stains on his body, he could still remember the feeling of the liquid splashing on him.

The freezing water wasn't helping him erase that feeling away.

-

He stepped out of the shower, breathing out in a sigh. He looked into the mirror and leaned over the sink. A towel around his waist and another around his neck, he scrutinized himself.

He slapped himself. He hit himself in the face and looked back at the mirror.

"It's alright," he reminded himself, "it was bound to happen." It was a sort of assurance for him. It's the mafia after all. He was quite prepared for this killing thing. He'd always fought with his life on the line, even before he took the Family seriously. It wasn't anything new.

For an instant, he thought he saw something change in the mirror.

For a moment, he thought there was blood flowing down his head-- and when he looked at his hands, they were covered in the same red liquid.

His breath got stuck in his throat.

He was desperate now. He twisted the tap on and washed his hands. Even though he knew they were clean, he washed them thoroughly, with soap, over and over again.

He washed them, again and again and again and again and again and again and again.

He could still feel it.

The red warmth on his hands.

-

-

When he finally stepped out of the bathroom, he had managed to muster enough strength to force a smile back on his face.

A towel around his neck and now wearing his casual clothes, he laid down on the bed.

He was exhausted.

He had quite a few cuts and scratches, but he fixed them up with bandages and band aids. His hands stung, having been rubbed raw.

He was tired.

Too, too tired.

Mentally, physically, emotionally.

\--

-

"Hey, Baseball Idiot!" in came a loud yell. Gokudera Hayato blasts his door open rudely and uninvited, angrily as usual, "When did you get back? Haven't we been ordered to always inform the Tenth upon your return from a job!" he scolds instantly.

 _Oh, there was that._ Tsuna's rule that he had set when we began taking solo missions. In the emotional rush, it had slipped out of Takeshi's mind.

He chuckled awkwardly. "Sorry, Hayato, I forgot!" he admitted, "But I'm a little tired so, uh, could you tell Tsuna I'll come by a little later?"

Takeshi really wasn't in the state of mind for a report now. He needed-- ah, yes. A nice, long, nap would help a lot. It would make him calm down. It always did.

The bomber raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Hah?" he almost sounded offended, "Moron, did you hit your head or something?" he questioned.

It was definitely rare for the Rain Guardian to feel tired. He was one of the few that boasted incredible stamina. And of course, he had never, never forgotten to report to Tsuna's office. There were times he even barged in on an important meeting just to inform Tsuna of his return!

_(And surprisingly, Gokudera wasn't one to miss these details.)_

Takeshi chuckled back in response. "Now, now, Hayato," he assured him, "I pulled quite an all-nighter," he lied, "I'll report to Tsuna later on, I promise," Takeshi wanted to be alone. He really couldn't hold up this facade.

He  _pleaded_ , in his head, for the Storm Guardian to just march off angrily as he always did, irritated by Takeshi's carefree attitude.

But Hayato did not leave.

"Idiot," Hayato sighed, entering the room briefly and leaning against the wall right by the door, picking out a cigarette from his pocket, "you're shaking. Something happened," he deduced.

Takeshi jolted in surprised. He hadn't noticed his hands shivering until now. He knew his smile was perfect, but-- he bit his bottom lip, looked down, and clenched his fists tights and tried to stop the trembling in his bones.

"Look," Hayato walked up to Takeshi, landing a light knock on Takeshi's head with his fist. "I'm not gonna ask, but if you worry the Tenth, you'll pay," he threatened softly.

The tone of his voice was softer than usual. And when Takeshi briefly met Hayato's eyes, green eyes sharpened, seemingly in rage. But for some reason, it gave off a different air from usual.

_He was angry, not_ ** _at_ ** _Takeshi, but_ ** _for_ ** _Takeshi._

Without another word, Hayato steps out of the room, closing the door lightly behind him.

-

-

"One! Two!"

Takeshi could recognize that voice anywhere. It reminded him strongly of Namimori when he was still in Junior High, sending nostalgic images of his home and his dad to his head.

It was a sound he would often hear in the mornings-- the sound of the boxing club captain making his practices in the boxing club.

"Extreme!" and there was a loud blast, as if something had burst.

Curiously, Takeshi looked into the room to see the one and only Sasagawa Ryohei, breathing heavily and sweating profusely. Now calming his breath, he looked over the destroyed punching bag in front of him, his expression unclear.

Perhaps he was satisfied to have broken his fifth punching bag that week. Perhaps, he was feeling unsatisfied, that he now had to find a new one. Nevertheless, he wiped his sweat with the edge of his wrist, the bandages on his knuckles dirty from dust. He crouched down and shoved the bag aside, trying to decide how to clean up the spilled contents.

"I think there was a broom at the cleaner's storage," Takeshi chimed in helpfully, a resigned smile on his face. His upperclassman was quite easy to read, even without Reborn's level of reading expressions.

Ryohei's eyes lifted up quickly, and his whole face brightened up. "Oh!" he realized, "You're back, Takeshi!" he greeted, his voice loud and boisterous as usual, "I trust you did an extreme job, as usual!" he grinned widely.

Takeshi's smile was frozen on his face. "Of course!" he assured the boxer.

There was a lightly indiscernible hesitation, before Ryohei's smile popped back up wider than ever. "Gimme a moment, I'll be right there!"

And sure enough, Takeshi did not come here to sight-see. It was routine for the Guardians that returned from missions to visit Ryohei before they dropped by Tsuna's office, to heal them of their wounds and prevent creating more stress or worry for their Boss.

Tsuna, after all,  _hated_  to see his friends hurt.

And everyone knew that.

The cleaner's storage was right around the corner, and the boxer easily picked out a sweeper to pick up all the sand and emptied it into the trash. It took him no longer than a moment to clean up the broken trash bag, having done this a hundred times already.

Finally, he unwrapped the bandages on his knuckles and picked up his training bag, his towel around his neck.

"Let's go!" he said.

-

The Mansion was huge, consisting of three wings, with four floors each. Each guardian had the privilege of one floor for their personal use and training. This, in fact, did not include their bedrooms. Everyone's bedrooms were located in roughly the same area, upon Tsuna's request.

Ryohei's floor was simply known as the Sun floor. And as per the name, the hallways were quite brightly lit. There were infirmaries on every wing, but the main infirmary was the one on this floor, that was manned by Ryohei himself.

Drying out his sweat and disinfecting his hands, Ryohei put his rings back on and reached for the first aid kit on the shelf. Sun Flames were, of course, vital healing properties, but Ryohei disagreed with the logic of healing wounds when not in an emergency.

"If I heal everything up every single time, you'll never grow!" he'd always say, "real men get stronger by bearing those extreme wounds as they go!"

And so, Takeshi had to get all his cuts and scrapes treated the normal way. The stab wound on his thigh, though, received a short healing of Sun Flames before it was stitched up.

When he was finally done, Ryohei gave him a grin.

"Takeshi," he sounded almost serious, "I'm sure we're all taking this Mafia business to the extreme, but don't push yourself too far, alright?"

Takeshi paused. For a moment, it sounded hypocritical. Ryohei, after all, was the main source of going overboard in this Family.

But in the next moment, Takeshi couldn't suppress a frown.

He was being seen through. His first kill was affecting him so much, it was showing blatantly on his face. He was being read by his guardians.

He shook the thoughts out of his head, and put a smile on his face.

"I'll try my best, Senpai!"

-

-

Lambo was crying.

Although many can argue that the cow child has matured a lot over the years, his crybaby tendencies were almost not improving at all. And even as he turns twelve this year, he still sheds a loud tear every now and then.

Takeshi finds him sniffling in the corner.

He lets out a chuckle, crouching down to the child. Lambo had his knees drawn up to his chest, his face buried in his arms as he sniffled softly.

"What's wrong, Lambo?" he asked.

Lambo lifts his head. He was teary-eyed, and was dripping a fair amount of snot, but he was biting his bottom lip hard.

"To-le-rate--" he heard the cow child mutter softly, "Tolerate, tolerate, tolerate."

Takeshi laughed, rubbing the cow child's head affectionately. "Was it Hayato again? Or was it Reborn?" he asked. He reached into the left pocket of his pants, taking out tissues, and had Lambo blow his nose.

Lambo was slightly calmer now. "Reborn..." he mumbled. "He's supposed to be my age physically, isn't he?" he whined, "So why is he so much taller!" he complained, "And then, Reborn the bastard-"

Takeshi listened to the cow child rant.

Reborn, seven years after the curse was broken, had grown tall enough to qualify as a teen. Lambo definitely wasn't short either, but he naturally felt inferior to Reborn, and this inferiority didn't seem to have a cure.

"Now, now," he soothed.

Lambo sniffed again, "Hey, Takeshi-nii," he spoke up, "Have you ever felt weak?" he asked.

That question was quite a sudden one, so it surprised Takeshi quite a bit. He was actually not expecting the question at all.

Have you ever felt weak? Useless- Worthless- Unable to succeed?

"I have," he admitted, a sad smile on his face, "back when Tsuna and I were in junior high- and when I was still playing baseball all the time. At that time, baseball was all I had-- but then, I suddenly wasn't doing so well anymore."

"Then-" Lambo spoke up, interested, "How do I become strong like you, Takeshi-nii?" he inquired. He was purely interested.

Takeshi gripped his fist.

 _I'm not strong,_  he wanted to say.  _I wasn't strong enough, and a hesitation in my sword_ \--  **killed** \--  _someone I wasn't intending to kill and_ \--

 _ **No,**_  he snapped himself out of it.

Takeshi let out a toothy grin.

"We're all here for you!" he said, and it was a reassurance to himself as well, "just remember, Lambo--" he nudged the boy in the forehead, "we fight for our family, and we fight with our family. No one is to shoulder a heavy burden by themselves. If someone has a flaw, someone else just has to cover it up," he smiled, a slightly truer smile than he'd ever smiled before.

"And well--" he chuckled, "the rest comes up to training, I guess!"

-

-

"Herbivore."

It was really odd to catch Hibari Kyouya walking around the Mansion. Kyouya tended to avoid people, and thus he usually only showed up during mealtimes. It was stranger for him to approach someone, much less be the one starting up the conversation.

But Takeshi knew exactly what he was here for.

Kyouya held out a folded purple handkerchief. It was the handkerchief each of the guardians had corresponding to their own colours-- it was a hand-sewn gift from Sawada Nana before they all left for Italy, and Takeshi was surprised to see Kyouya still using it.

(Well, Takeshi was sure everyone still used theirs.)

Kyouya unfolded the handkerchief, to reveal a silver tie pin.

Takeshi's eyes widened- "Ah-" he realized. It was a tie pin with the crest of the Vongola-- and on the back of the pin was an engraving of his name and title and position. It was another gift-- this time, from the CEDEF, in commemoration of their installment as the Vongola Decimo Generation.

It was only then, that Takeshi noticed he had dropped it back during the fight. Such an important, important object-- and he forgot about it.

"Don't be careless." Kyouya said, holding out the tie pin and urging the male to take it.

There was not a single speck of blood on it, Takeshi noticed when he gratefully took it from the former prefect's hand. The prefect himself knew the value of the object and he knew how much Takeshi treasured it.

But if the prefect had it-- that could only mean one thing. Kyouya had seen him coming home in that state through the CCTVs, and went to clean up after the Rain Guardian.

(Kyouya, in fact, had his first kill straight out of High School. He was the second out of the Guardians, the first being Mukuro himself. Kyouya has, since then, opted to take the jobs that required taking lives. Not to say that Tsuna was amused by it in the least, but Kyouya voiced his concerns on keeping the other guardians' hands pure. He even brought 'Vongola rules' into this.)

Takeshi felt like crying now. His lips were curled down, and no amount of strength could pull them back up. But he held the tears back and managed two words of gratitude.

"Thank you," he bowed his head lightly.

Kyouya eyed the male, visibly taking note of the male's disarrayed emotions. "If you're so careless next time," he spoke, turning around to return to his floor, "I will bite you to death, you hear?"

-

-

Takeshi had to head for Tsuna's office now. He kept his head down the journey there, trying to figure the details of the report he did not want to give.

Would Tsuna be disappointed? He was quite angry the first time Kyouya killed a man, not just at Kyouya, but mostly at himself. That time, Kyouya had broken an arm, punctured a lung, received a concussion, and barely made it back out alive. After that predicament, Tsuna had shut himself in his room, refusing to meet his Guardians for a long week.

That week, no one received any missions.

Reborn had forced the Guardians into Tsuna's office, made them apologize, and promise to never do anything as reckless as that. Tsuna was also made to promise not to seclude himself like that ever again.

Takeshi was very worried about how Tsuna would react this time. He never liked to make Tsuna worry. His job here was to erase the tension in the family, but it seems he might be the cause of it this time. 

He sighed.

"Why the long face?" a man's voice chuckled amusingly.

Takeshi had been delving too deep into his thoughts. He passed one Rokudo Mukuro, who was leaning by the wall, his trident in his hand.

"Eh-" Takeshi wondered how long Mukuro had been there and how he didn't notice him, "What are you doing here, Mukuro?" he questioned, turning towards the Mist Guardian. 

"Quite rude to answer a question with a question, no?" Mukuro smirked, then shrugged. "So, why the long face?" he repeated his question. 

Takeshi gulped. Mukuro was one man in this Family that had killed like no one's business. Driven into a corner at a young age and becoming a mass murderer and criminal. To this day, Tsuna often laments the fact that the Estraneo are still out there in the world, surviving in bits and pieces. 

"Does it perhaps," Mukuro looked up, an amused smile on his face, "Have something to do with the smell of blood on you?"

Takeshi flinched.

"Ahaha-" this was very, very forced, "what, do I actually stink?" he joked. He was pretty sure he didn't, though. I mean-- he did take a long bath.

"You know what I mean," Mukuro was unaffected. He turned, heading back towards the Mist Floor. "But a piece of advice," a parting word, "if you don't think you did anything wrong, don't think too much about it."

Takeshi had to stop at that. Was that-- was that how Mukuro dealt with his own? He simply moved on because it couldn't be undone? He simply moved on because, although it was a morbid experience, he held no regret for following the desperate cry of his heart?

Mukuro gave Takeshi a smile.

 **Once you've stained your hands, it can't be undone**. But that didn't mean we ought to turn away and deny the reality of the situation. We have to live with it, all the while shouldering the increasing burden and sin of it all.

_It's part of life as a Mafioso, after all._

Takeshi pulled his lips into a much more natural smile than before. "Thanks for that, Mukuro!" he grinned. 

Now, he turned around and made confident strides towards his Boss's office. Now, he knew exactly what to say, how much to say and how to act.

When he reached Vongola Decimo's office, he knocked twice. Receiving permission, he opened the door and stepped in.

"I'm home, Tsuna!"


End file.
